


Eowyn, Queen of Thorns

by DianaSolaris



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: (not really but Aragorn is paranoid and holds himself to stupid high standards), Emotional Infidelity, F/F, F/M, Injury Recovery, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Sexual Confusion, Tagging LOTR Fics Is Hard Apparently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 23:00:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16005095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DianaSolaris/pseuds/DianaSolaris
Summary: Six months had passed since the battle of Minas Tirith, six months of rebuilding and recovering and reconstruction, and Eowyn  had every intention of standing upright at Aragorn's coronation her own damned self.Or, the poly Aragorn/Arwen/Eowyn fic I've wanted to write for years.Written for the Tolkien RSB!





	1. Chapter 1

                The Houses of Healing were a bright and fair place to recover, especially when somebody had come as close to death as Eowyn had; however, watching the young woman limp across the courtyard, Arwen couldn’t fault her for being bored. Six months had passed since the battle of Minas Tirith, six months of rebuilding and recovering and reconstruction, and with a coronation awaiting her husband-to-be once the walls were secure. And while Arwen hadn’t heard it herself, she could read it in Eowyn’s eyes every time she went to visit; the princess of Rohan had every intention of standing upright at the wedding her own damned self.

                Of course, thought Arwen with a shake of her head, Eowyn would have more luck with her project if she stopped walking on the ankle for five minutes. The healers seemed to have given up, so Arwen tied back her hair and began the journey down the steps.

                By the time she emerged into the courtyard, Eowyn was leaning on one of the walls, staring down at the battlefield with a grim expression. She was leaning her weight heavily on one leg, the other only barely pressing on the ground; of course, Eowyn expected that Arwen wouldn’t notice.

                “Shieldmaiden,” Arwen called out. Eowyn didn’t respond. “Eowyn,” she sighed, using her name instead.

                “If you’re here to tell me to go back inside and recover like a good princess,” Eowyn replied, the calmness in her voice only barely hiding her determination, “I cordially invite you to forget it.”

                “Cordially?” Arwen tried not to laugh. What _was_ it about the Rohirrim? Eowyn may not have been an official member of the riders but she certainly had their indomitable spirit. Maybe it was just a Rohan thing.

                 “Cordially, because –“ Eowyn grunted, turning around to face Arwen and bow her head in a small gesture of respect, “I don’t wish to disrespect my queen.”

                Arwen let the soft smile spread on her face. “You are _so_ stubborn.”

                “I like to think it works out for the best.”

                That was very true. Arwen hadn’t fought in the battle, but she’d brought Aragorn his sword, and she’d seen the bloodshed. And what Eowyn had done to the Witch-King… “It certainly does, but I’m afraid you can’t spite your body into healing faster.”

                “Are you _sure?_ ”

                Arwen closed her eyes, stifling a laugh. Then she walked over to Eowyn. “If you’re _going_ to do this no matter what anybody tells you, take my arm.”

                “I don’t need to be-“

                “Weren’t you just saying how I am your queen?” Arwen teased. She couldn’t resist, especially when Eowyn flushed and quietly took Arwen’s arm. “There. Now you can walk and get fresh air without further injuring yourself. And in good company as well!”

                “I thought you had a wedding and coronation to prepare for.”

                Arwen sighed dramatically. “Apparently between Aragorn and my father, every bit of it’s been planned out already. I love them both, but I’m doomed to be surrounded by control freaks for the rest of eternity.”

                “Oh no. Are they that bad?”

                “I don’t mind _that_ much. I’ve very little interest in choosing much beyond my wedding dress.” Arwen sighed. “Did you know I’ve never been around so many people before?”

                “Really? I can’t imagine.”

                “Rivendell isn’t the most densely populated. There are plenty of travellers, but they come in their small groups and then leave again. Somewhere like here is…” Arwen glanced up at the white towers, that small quail of nervousness flaring up in her heart again. “I don’t know how you all manage to live so close together.”

                She looked back to Eowyn – and started in surprise. There was genuine concern in the shieldmaiden’s eyes. “Are you going to be okay here?”

                “Of course! I’m a grown woman. I’ll adjust, in time.”

                “Rohan is less… dense. If you ever want to visit.”

                Arwen didn’t miss the slight flush over Eowyn’s face. “If you want me to visit, you can just _ask._ ”

                “I’m asking, aren’t I?”

                “I suppose you are.”

                They walked along in peace for a while, and Arwen looked Eowyn up and down, keeping an eye on her gait and the way Eowyn kept favouring her left. Leaning on Arwen seemed to be helping, although she doubted the princess would ever admit it. Well, it wasn’t like Arwen could give anybody trouble for doing things out of spite. Quiet rebellion or not, she might as well have spat in her father’s face for the pride she’d taken in marrying Aragorn.

                A quiet ribbon of guilt wound through her heart at that. Elrond was putting off his departure from Middle-Earth, for _her._ Each day, more of the magic left their home, leaving the woods and fields and trees of Middle-Earth no less bright, no less beautiful, but a little less imbued with life. That same life was leaving her father, and she should be with him when he made the journey to Valinor.

                “This stupid _ankle,_ ” Eowyn grumbled. “The rest of me is fine. It’s this leg.”

                “You went up against the Witch-King of Angmar and _won,_ ” Arwen replied, startled out of her somber trance with a surprised astonishment. “The fact that you can walk at all is a miracle.”

                “It’s not enough.”

                “It’s not –“ Arwen blinked. “What would be enough?”

                But Eowyn had gone silent, high colour rising upon her cheeks. She pulled her arm from Arwen’s – delicately, politely, but firmly – and began to make her hobbling way back to the Healing Houses. Then, remembering her manners, she turned back. “Thank you for your company today, Lady Arwen. Please give my lord my best wishes for his coronation.”

“Give them to him yourself-“ Arwen began, and then came to a horrid realization. “…Eowyn, has Aragorn come to speak to you?”

The colour in Eowyn’s cheeks darkened, and a quiet disappointment rose in Arwen’s chest. Such a human emotion, but the kind of thing she couldn’t help – remembering that her husband-to-be, her love, was human too. “No,” came the quiet admission. Then she left, and Arwen let her, allowing the shieldmaiden to nurse her wounded pride.

\---

                Aragorn son of Arathorn, Elessar Telcontar, heir of Isildur, soon-to-be Gondor’s thirty-fifth king of Gondor, did not call himself a fearless man – mostly because it would have been a terrible lie. He was afraid of plenty of things. It was just that most of the time, he could either avoid them, stab them, or face them and push the fear into the back of his mind to deal with at a later date.

                Unfortunately, from the look on his fiance’s face, ‘avoid’ and ‘stab’ weren’t good options right now. And it didn’t matter how much he hated confrontation.

                “Arwen,” he said with a smile and tried to push away the horrible pit in his stomach of ‘well fuck’. He was really starting to have second thoughts about this kingship business. Orcs were easy. Wandering was easy. Being the anonymous ranger that everybody thought of as some shadow that nobody _expected_ good table manners from was easy.

                “My love,” she said in a kind voice, velvet cloaking steel, “have you been down to the Healing Houses in the last six months?”

                …Well, fuck indeed. Not that he’d be that crass in front of anybody who wasn’t a Ranger. Even the hobbits had their own particular profanities.

                “I’ve been… busy?”

                Arwen crossed her arms and leaned against the open door, watching him feed the horses for a moment. “Eowyn did an incredible thing,” she murmured softly. “And I know you’ve been helping the healers.”

                He shifted uncomfortably. “…She’s been sleeping a lot. And I try to leave before she wakes up.”

                “Why?”

                Oh, he did not want to answer this question. He patted his horse’s muzzle, wondering if he could get out of this one way or another. “Before you brought Anduril to me, I had been with only the Fellowship for a long while. Much of it with Legolas and Gimli, who are wonderful companions, but –“ Oh, he didn’t know _how_ to explain himself. Especially when he couldn’t seem to read Arwen’s expression. It wasn’t that Legolas and Gimli didn’t _admire_ him. It was just… “I had been with companions who saw themselves firmly as my equal.”

                “I would say Eowyn is every ounce your equal.”

                “She is, and more! But she does not believe it herself, and it –“ Aragorn squirmed some more. It was a bad sign when explaining your motivations left you feeling… _unclean._ Like you’d transgressed a boundary you couldn’t voice. But that was why he hadn’t told Arwen from the beginning, wasn’t it? He’d grown up with both the iniquities of men and the standards of elves. Hardly a pleasant combination when it came to the delicacies of society.

                “Were you unfaithful?”

                “Not in word or in deed. But I admit I enjoyed her admiration probably more than I should have. And I’m not sure if I encouraged it.”

                Aragorn dropped his hands from his horse, and awaited Arwen’s anger.

                “…You really _do_ set impossible standards for yourself,” Arwen murmured, and lifted Aragorn’s gaze from the floor to her eyes with two fingers under his chin. “Go talk to her. She’s desperate for your approval.”

                “I will. Once I’ve gotten the rest of this coronation planned-“

                “I know as well as you do that my father is having the time of his life organizing all of this.”

                Aragorn sighed. “There are… certain things that I’m more suited to.” A smile quirked at his lips. “There’s a lot to be said for appearing as welcoming as possible while still checking every goblet for poison and every belt for a knife.”

                “You don’t think somebody will-“

                “Not everybody puts much stock in fated prophecies and long-lost kingly bloodlines. I can’t exactly fault them for that.”

                Arwen nodded, but Aragorn could see that it troubled her. It would have troubled him as well, before he’d left Rivendell. Elrond’s house was a shelter from the cruelty of men, but not for the first time, he wondered how Arwen would cope with the harsh reality that not all evil sprang from Melkor’s touch.

                “Just promise me you’ll talk to her. _Before_ the ceremony.”

                “I will do my best.”

                Arwen’s lips tightened a little, but then she nodded. He wouldn’t make a promise that there was any chance of breaking.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 

                Six months since the battle of Minas Tirith, and the wounds of war were still scattered all over the white city, slowly but surely healing under the touch of the finest stonemasons in Gondor. It was strange, thought Arwen. She was used to the trees having their own voices, whether of pain or joy. But for so long, she’d thought of stone as being lifeless, or cold.

                She said as much to Gimli, who shot her a look that she probably should have predicted. “Of course _you’d_ think that. Lifeless stone! Who’d think of such a thing? Have some respect for Aulë.” He paused for a second, cast his beady eyes up at her, then added gruffly. “Begging your pardon, my ladyship. Maybe, er, don’t tell Aragorn I said that.”

                She laughed. “It’ll be our secret. Besides, you’re right. I _should_ know better.”

                They were seated on one of the promontories of Minas Tirith, watching the stonemasons at their work. It was so _rough,_ in comparison to tree-weaving, blocks being hoisted into place with pulleys and pure strength, but at the same time, as she watched, it revealed an intricacy of its own.

                Then Arwen glanced downwards, and inhaled sharply. There was a familiar figure limping towards the site of the stonemasons’ work. “Oh Iluvatar,” she sighed.

                “Isn’t that the lass who-?”

                “Yes it is.” Arwen leant over the promontory. “Eowyn! Get back in bed _right now!_ ”

                “You’re not my mother!” came the reply.

                Oh, that was _it._ Enough of this ‘first lady of Gondor’ nonsense. Arwen picked up the trail of her dress, and jumped over the edge of the promontory, landing with a crash on her feet below. It hurt, certainly, but she shook it off.

                “My lady!”

                Funnily enough, while all the men were fussing, Eowyn didn’t waver, glaring at Arwen.

                “Eowyn, you are _not going to heal_ if-“

                “I won’t heal by being stuck back into a cage!” she spat, and Arwen recoiled slightly, taken by surprise. She’d expected another stubborn temper tantrum. “I won’t waste away and be overlooked – not again! _Never_ again, _never,_ do you hear me?”

                “I – I hear you-“

                “I don’t think you do, your highness,” Eowyn said bitterly. “I do not need saving from myself. I had a victory – a wonderful, _terrifying_ victory – and all I’ve gotten for it has been more ignorance, more pity. I can see it in your face. You _pity_ me, don’t you?”

                Arwen didn’t. She _couldn’t._ But somehow, she didn’t think Eowyn would hear her.

                “Well? Didn’t you come down here to lecture me?”

                “I think my words would fall on deaf ears,” she admitted. Her heart was racing – with what, she didn’t know. She could _feel_ it, every bit of passion and rage and hurt in Eowyn’s voice.

                She let her go. And once Eowyn was gone, she stared down at her hands, hands that could wield a sword but had never shed blood with it, and wondered what it had been like on the battlefield. She’d _watched_ battles. She’d pulled people out of them when they needed help. She’d always known she wasn’t a warrior, and she had no craving for it.

                She couldn’t understand what drove Eowyn to such desperation – but she thought perhaps she could imagine, at least the edges of it.

\---

 

                Eowyn hated the Houses of Healing after all the time she’d spent inside of them, but the gardens that surrounded them were the kind of beauty she could appreciate. They reminded her of the fields of Rohan, the heathery moors scattered with flowers.

                She hoped she’d be able to return. She wanted to, and there was no rational reason she _couldn’t._ But there were no female riders of Rohan. And there were no female knights of Gondor either.

                _So why not be the first?_ she asked herself. But that was a far more difficult question than it seemed. She wasn’t sure she could bear the loneliness. She would have gone home to the Shire with Merry, if she’d felt like she would have fit in any better there.

                Then came the sight she’d dreaded; Aragorn himself, coming down the path towards her. It would have been too much if he’d been wearing kingly clothing, but true to form, he was wearing his usual travel clothing. Eowyn couldn’t help but wonder with a smile if he’d have to be blackmailed into ceremonial clothes; she didn’t doubt he’d complain how unsuited they were to anything _but_ ceremony, and entirely miss the point.

                He came to a stop in front of her, standing respectfully a few meters away. “My lady Eowyn.”

                “I’m nobody’s lady.”

                “Eowyn, then.”

                She’d almost expected him to insist. He’d never been able to decide what to make of her. With one hand, he praised her valor, called her shieldmaiden; with the other, he bid her keep her place. One moment, he told her that she loved a shadow, and with another, he hovered so close that she thought _she_ might be that very shadow, waiting at his feet, not entirely willingly.

                “You look very beautiful surrounded by the ferns.”

                “Is that what these are? They don’t grow nearly so tall in Rohan.” She brushed her fingers over one of them where it curved over her shoulder, then caught his eye. “I suppose you are also here to lecture me to sit still and stay silent.”

                “Hardly. Greater men – and women, as it seems – than me have tried.”

                She started at that, and tried to remind herself of his words – cruel, for all that he’d meant them well. _It is but a shadow and a thought that you love._ The rebuttals still crowded to her lips. She knew it to be true. But it stung, nonetheless. “Then what brings you here?”

                He shifted his weight from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable. Eowyn was oddly discomfited by it, only because she had the strangest feeling it was because of her. “…I wanted to see that you were well.”

                “I intend to walk at your coronation.”

                Aragorn chuckled ruefully. “I appreciate it, but if it’s a matter of you walking for the rest of your life, I’ll gladly delay the whole thing.”

                “That just sounds like a man looking for a reason not to get crowned,” Eowyn teased – then stopped at the last word, raising an eyebrow. Aragorn’s face wouldn’t have betrayed much, if she hadn’t already had a sneaking suspicion. Most men were happy to be idolized, all too ready to claim a crown.

                Aragorn sighed, the tension leaving his shoulders, and he sat down in the grass across from her. For a moment, Eowyn could see Strider, the man that Merry had talked about in such glowing terms. Strider was still a man who commanded respect – but Strider had no interest in being a king. “I hear my fiancé jumped off a ledge to stop you from injuring yourself again.”

                “Oh no. She told you?”

                “She didn’t have to. Gimli was already composing a dwarven ode to the whole thing and wanted my input.”

                Eowyn pressed a hand to her mouth, trying not to laugh. Aragorn just rolled his eyes. “He likes you, you know.”

                “Gimli?”

                Aragorn nodded, chuckling a bit. “He has it in his head that we would have gotten in _much_ less trouble had we had you along.”

                “Oh, I highly doubt that. I’m no less hotheaded than any man.”

                “No, but you have longer legs than he does.”

                This time, Eowyn did laugh. By the time she’d managed to get her giggles under control, she realized Aragorn was smiling at her. And this time, there _was_ no shadow, she realized, and the man who’d been casting it was worth it –

                “I should go,” she said hurriedly.

                “Yes,” he said after a moment, and she could hear the guilt in his voice. “Go, rest.”

                She still didn’t know how much of his absence had been deliberate. But her heart both thrilled and sank at the knowledge that he hadn’t been pushing her away out of dislike, or contempt, or even disinterest. He was _afraid –_ afraid of what might happen, afraid of his own disloyalty, afraid of what he might do.

                She wanted to find out. Perhaps six months ago, she would have pushed that boundary. But now she _knew_ Arwen. And if it came to a choice between the Lady Arwen’s friendship or her lord’s love –

                Well, that was hardly a competition.

                If Eowyn had kept her eyes trained on her feet, taking as much care with her heavy steps as she’d had to for the last six months on legs that could barely support her weight, then she would have seen nothing. As it was, though, she lifted her head, straightening her back with resolve and the confidence that she _hadn’t_ failed her king, that she _was_ worthy, and tried to believe that the gladness would last…

                And saw Arwen’s pale face framed among the trees, watching her with steady, dark eyes. She was seated on one of the walls that lined the garden, half-hidden by the leafy boughs.

                “My lady,” Eowyn exclaimed, and Arwen started, a flush spreading across her cheeks. “I didn’t know you were here.”

                Arwen glanced away, suddenly lost for words. It was the first time Eowyn had seen her flustered, and she couldn’t grasp _why._ “I – um –“ Arwen said breathlessly, “You’re walking well.”

                “The healers say I’m doing well.” Eowyn couldn’t help a small poke. “Apparently _some_ exercise is a good thing.”

                “Oh, of course.” Arwen rolled her eyes, giving her an exasperated smile. “A broken ankle certainly distracts one from everything else.”

                “Hey, I haven’t broken it so far.”

                Arwen descended from the wall, and Eowyn noticed for the first time that she was in riding leathers, the first time she’d seen the elven lady not in a dress.

                “Are you going riding?”

                “Yes, I –“ Arwen cut herself off, the flush rising to her cheeks again. “I was hoping you might join me.”

                Eowyn glanced behind her, where Aragorn was still sitting in the garden. He wasn’t looking at them, but he seemed remarkably at peace, away from the crowds and demands of his future subjects. Then she drew her gaze back to Arwen, who returned the gaze steadily, even though the nervousness was still writ large over her delicate features.

                “I would love it. That is,” Eowyn added with a wicked smile, “if you aren’t too concerned about me hurting myself.”

                “Riding has got to be better for you than strutting around on your ankles constantly. Just don’t try any stunts.”

                Then Arwen’s hand wrapped around Eowyn’s arm, sliding down, down until their fingers interlaced. And Eowyn’s heart beat steadily against her ribcage, making its presence known more and more urgently with every pulse, a sudden reminder that she was _alive._

 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 

                Arwen Undomiel didn’t talk about her feelings. Oh, she expressed them when she had to. When she was standing up to her father and insisting on staying in Endor. When she was bringing her brothers home. When she remembered her mother, the evenstar herself, child of Lothlorien, and knew that all her beauty was only a shadow cast by light she could no longer remember.

                But most of the time, she kept her own counsel. She could figure out her own challenges, puzzle them out like tangled string. Usually, this worked.

                Now, she was wondering how she ever thought she was prepared.

                It had been nothing, really. Eowyn had dismounted first, and offered her arm to Arwen, a chivalric gesture that Arwen had never received from another woman. She’d taken the lady-knight’s arm, stepped down, and found their faces a breath apart.

                Nothing had happened. But her hands shook anyway.

                Nothing had happened.

                She sat down on the bed, staring at her feet where they rested on the stone floor. She heard Aragorn coming in, but took longer than she meant to lift her head, gazing at him with a mix of fear and hope.

                “Aragorn,” she began to ask, then stumbled over her tongue.

                He seemed distracted at first, then glanced up at her. “…Is everything alright? Was there trouble with-“

                “No, no. I was just wondering –“ She exhaled. “Men can… love more than once. Were there any others, before me?”

                “I swear it, no. I am more elf than man in that respect.”

                Arwen smiled softly. She didn’t quite believe him. “Not once? Surely your heart must have strayed.”

                “My heart has had its moments. My hands do not take orders from it for a reason.”

                “With Eowyn?”

                Aragorn’s face blanched visibly at that. “I –“

                “I’m not angry,” Arwen said softly. “I just want to understand.”

                “I haven’t-“

                “No, that’s not why I ask.” Then Arwen’s hands tightened into fists on her thighs, discomfort raging in her chest.

                Aragorn knelt in front of her, taking her hand into his. “I’m afraid you’ll have to say something.”

                “I wanted to kiss her,” Arwen blurted out. “And after all your fears about being unfaithful over words and unsaid things –“

                Aragorn’s face burst into a smile, and Arwen swatted at him, suddenly humiliated.

                “I see. So we have even more in common than I believed.”

                “If you’re going to mock me-“

                “By no means. She’s quite a character, isn’t she?”

                Arwen felt the flush rise to her cheeks, discomfort blooming into something she couldn’t describe. “You mortals and your stubbornness.”

                “Did you kiss her?”

                “No! Of course not. I simply need to find a way around this-“

                “And you call us stubborn.”

                “What does that mean?”

                Aragorn leaned in and gave her a kiss sweet in promise. “I will have you for the rest of my life,” he said softly, “but you will not have me for the rest of yours. We both know this.”

                “Don’t…”

                “I don’t intend on chaining you to my side. And I –“ Aragorn chuckled, with a hint of sadness to it. “I would enjoy giving Eowyn a reason to stay in Minas Tirith – for all that Rohan would be losing out on a rare gem.”

                Arwen flung her arms around Aragorn’s shoulders, returning his kiss, then brushed her nose over his. “Thank you, thank you,” she breathed, “thank you.”

\---

                There were three days left until the coronation. Arwen wondered if she’d feel different, once she was married. Perhaps she’d understand humans more, or feel more at home within the white walls of Minas Tirith.

                But here, waiting in front of the Houses of Healing under the sprawl of a young tree, she already felt different. She could never have imagined experiencing these emotions twice in a lifetime, home in Rivendell. But here in the city of man that had refused to fall, built up into a mountain of mortal making, all things seemed possible.

                Finally, the figure she had been waiting for emerged – straight-backed, taking her steps slowly but confidently.

                “My lady.” Eowyn bowed, and Arwen couldn’t help but laugh. She reached forward, placing a hand under her chin, lifting her face back up.

                “There’s no need to bow to me. Although I’m happy to see that you’re healed –“ Arwen cast a sudden doubtful stare. “The healers actually gave you the all-clear this time, right?”

                “I’m completely healed and a free woman.”

                “Congratulations, then. You may be the first person to go sword to sword with a Ringwraith, kill the wraith and live to tell the tale.”

                “At this rate, I’ll be disappointed to find out I’m not.”

                “Some are already calling you Eowyn Nassëtári. Queen of Thorns.”

                Eowyn blinked in surprise. “Why thorns?”

                “You have a particular disposition, and are said to be the thorn in the side of the cruel. Such as Grima.”

                Eowyn snorted. “In which case I’ll bear the title proudly. I’m just not sure I deserve it.”

                Arwen couldn’t help the wrench in her chest. “Don’t you ever – You deserve every bit of praise and glory. You’ve earned it, through blood and thunder and pride.” She pressed her hand to her chest. “I would – If I could be more like you, I would consider it a blessing.”

                Now Eowyn really was blushing, staring at Arwen like something had fundamentally changed.

                “What?”

                “…I suppose you’re the first person to say that to me.” Eowyn said with a small, sad smile.

                A pang of something strange ran through Arwen’s heart. Not pity, no, never that for somebody who had taken charge of her own destiny. Admiration, perhaps, or something stronger yet.

                She lifted her hands to Eowyn’s face, long fingers tracing the other woman’s cheekbones. “I will not be the last,” she whispered. Then she leaned forward, pressing her lips to Eowyn’s. They were softer than she’d expected, surprised into stillness at first and then yielding.

                Eowyn’s fingers closed around Arwen’s wrist, and she pulled away. “What are you doing?” she asked.

                “I –“ Arwen swallowed down her disappointment. “Am I doing something wrong?”

                Eowyn exhaled, her thumb tracing the tendons on the inside of Arwen’s wrist. Then she pushed Arwen a step backwards, until her back hit the tree, and crashed their lips together again. Her arm looped around Arwen’s waist, pulling her close.

                She tasted like stardust, thought Arwen with wonder, like stardust and fire, burning at full brightness.

                Eowyn swore fealty to her between ragged breaths and desperate kisses, swearing to protect and serve her queen. Arwen felt her head soaring in the clouds with each touch, but she made a promise to herself for when she was able to speak once more – to remind Eowyn, now and forever, that Nassëtári, Queen of Thorns, served nobody.


	4. Chapter 4

  
 

EPILOGUE

 

                Aragorn son of Arathorn, Elessar Telcontar, accepted the crown of Gondor with more than a little misgiving. Blood didn’t seem like enough to substantiate a centuries-old claim. The length of the ceremony didn’t ease his anxiety any – he was looking forward to at least six hours of vows and oaths, each more convoluted than the other.

                But when he saw Eowyn approach, her hair trimmed to below her ears, and Arwen holding her hand with rosy cheeks and a shyness that he recognized, he knew there was at least one thing he could do.

                Eowyn came to him, avoiding his gaze. “My lord…”

                “You said you’d walk at my coronation. I’m pleased – and not a little surprised – that you managed it.”

                She chuckled slightly, and he saw the way her hand tightened in Arwen’s. It was an intimate gesture, one that he was privileged to see. Eowyn usually hid so much of her intimacy, of the warmth that he knew lay behind her fierce and cold exterior.

                He glanced over at Arwen, who nodded, giving him the go-ahead. Then he got down on one knee in front of Eowyn, in all of his kingly clothing and silver adornments.

                “My lady Eowyn. I have not properly thanked you for your service to Gondor.”

                “I – you don’t need to –“

                “I do. And on behalf of the realm of Gondor, as well as the Shire, the Grey Mountains and the elven reaches of Rivendell and Lothlorien,” he stopped for a moment to be sure he hadn’t forgotten any, “I ask you to be a knight in my service. First and most trusted of my advisors, and Captain of the White Tower.”

                To be fair, Aragorn hadn’t expected a yes. But it still stung more than he would ever admit when Eowyn shook her head. “I’m honored, my king. But…”

                Aragorn smiled. “But Rohan needs you more.”

                “I’m afraid so.” She smiled in return, the softest one he’d seen. “Of course, my brother will have to elect an ambassador. And if you were to send a Gondorian ambassador to the court of Rohan, it would be an excellent sign of good faith.”

                Aragorn glanced once more at the clutched hands of the women in front of him, and at Arwen, full of curiosity about the mortal life she had chosen to take for his sake.

                “That it would. And I think I have somebody in mind.”

                Arwen would come home to him. Today would bind them by the laws of elves and men, the final proof of their love. And when she rode off with the princess of Rohan, he would keep Gondor safe and keep his faith in her.

                He’d had his adventures and fought his war. It was her turn.


End file.
